


open your eyes

by assassin_trifecta



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Harry, Developing Relationship, Harry is Shook, M/M, Pre-Relationship, barely edited because i can't stare at this too long, how does policework even work, i have no idea what a detective is i'm going to be honest i'm just lying to all of you, lounge singer Cisco, not even particularly noir, not particularly noir but i never claimed to know what i was doing, open your eyes but the noir lounge version, please forgive me i'm begging you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_trifecta/pseuds/assassin_trifecta
Summary: Detective Wells has a reputation among his peers for taking long-shot cases. When Cisco Ramon comes to him with information on the most notorious gang in Central City, he rises to the challenge. With Cisco's pretty voice guiding him, it's almost too easy to catch the bad guys with enough time to share a drink between them.





	open your eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aquaexplicit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaexplicit/gifts), [AStarlitSunflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStarlitSunflower/gifts).



> Based on this beautiful post http://harrisonwhales.tumblr.com/post/176150986869/ because I love everyone. Shoutout to aqua and sunflower for being absolute champions

He doesn’t come here often.

            Which is to say, he doesn’t come here at all. There’s one gin-mill Harrison Wells goes to drink in and it ain’t the lousy Rudder. There are some faces here he recognizes, tottering through the crowd – few goons waiting on that fourth strike, couple of low ball gangsters sitting in the opposite corner, one or two vagrants milling about – but no one seems to notice him. Couple of ‘em were tight already, on their third or fourth drink and snowing no sign of stopping, but they didn’t see the detective with his hat down low and his collar drawn. He didn’t pay any mind to them, neither. Those jokesters are practically nothing in comparison to what Wells was chasing.

            None of them are what he’s here for.

            Glass in hand, two fingers of rye warming in his palm and sitting in the back corner of the bar, Harry looks just like any other man in the bar. Shady. Like he’s got something to hide. This place isn’t a respectable establishment. Whatever may have stood here before the Rudder, it got taken up by a floor crawling with the lowest of the bottom feeding criminals Central City had, and the women that they paid for. Recently, there’d even been a murder.

            A gang job.

            The only man that saw it all? He stood at the best vantage point in the house, though he’d seen it in the quiet confines behind the stage he sang on. _Lounge_ isn’t a word that Harry would use in the description of the Rudder, but that’s what they made themselves out to be, right down to the singer and the stage. Harry wonders why the man came back to this place, but he remembers their last meeting, and the man had simply said “It’s my only job.”

            Cisco Ramon.

            Not for the first time, Harry wonders how a guy like him got a job in a place like this. Short, soft. Ridiculous hair. His eyes are too kind, his demeanor too gentle. How he got to be a singer, Harry would never know. How he ever landed a job at this place? Harry didn’t _wanna_ know. But he was here, and he’s seen it all.

\---

Two nights prior had been bleak. Grey. No moon, no stars. Just cloud covering the sky and beating Central City with its third day of torrential downpour. Even Harry’s office was dim. Only a single lamp stood on his desk, the lonely bulb giving off a silky yellow glow that was eaten up by the shadows in the corners. Harry held onto hope that maybe the clouds would break, just as tightly as he held onto his glass.

            But between the rain and the rye? Looked like another night in the office.

            He glanced at his desk, to the portrait of his former family. He and his wife holding their little Jesse between them. She wasn’t so little now. Jesse could take care of herself another night. She was almost an adult, leading her life. Said she wanted to go to college. IF she wasn’t her mother’s daughter, he would’ve been worried. She could take care of herself, Harry reassured himself as the clouds unleashed a volley of lightning in the sky, thunder rolling over the city in response. She could. She-

            “I should probably give her a call.”

            But even as Harry reached for the phone on his desk, another clap of thunder shook the building. The light flickered. The office door burst open.

            Faster than light, Harry reached for the .45 holstered at his side, dropping down and taking aim at the intruder.

            A young man held his hands up, eyes pleading not to be shot. He stared in horror at the detective.

            “Don’t shoot!” He cried, holding himself there and staring in horrified silence until Harry slowly lowered his gun and his heart rate. “That how you treat all your witnesses?” Even in the further dimmed light of his office, even with his figure silhouetted by the much brighter hallway behind him, Harry could see that it was true. This man had come to him with a case, sent up by one of the remaining uniforms downstairs.

            Every witness that came up to the homicide offices had a different story to tell, each one had a different problem, but they all had the same look in their eyes. Fear. Not cause of the crime they’d seen committed, but because of the fallout they knew was coming their way. A liar’s a liar, a snitch was a dead man.

            From the look on his face, Cisco had seen something brutal.

            Harry finally relaxed, pushing the stray fallen hairs from his face and standing straight once more. He put his gun back on the corner of his desk, close enough to reach but open to give Cisco peace of mind. He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk, stepping back behind the wood to take his own.

            “Please, Mr-?”

            “Ramon. Cisco Ramon.”

            “Mr. Ramon, take a seat.”

            Cisco stepped further into the office once the gun was out of the question, and Harry finally got a good enough look at him in the light. Young – late twenties or early thirties. Everything about him was dark – his skin, his hair, his eyes – but warm, as if he radiated some kind of ethereal goodness about him. Despite all that, he was clearly on edge. As he sat, he brought his hands to his lap, fingers tapping and fiddling against each other with nervous energy. He wore a long coat that he hadn’t taken off when he came inside, in spite of the warm office and the rain drenched shoulders. He carried no umbrella with him and wore no hat, so his long hair was soaked and hanging stringy around his face and down his back. Beneath the coat, his suit was fine and well-tailored to a slim but firm figure.

            He was handsome. Beautiful. It seemed like Cisco Ramon had left an important even in a hurry, and he hadn’t planned on staying there long.

            Interesting.

            “What can I do for you, Mr. Ramon?”

            “Cisco, please,” The younger man corrected. His eyes fluttered about the room and landed on the window behind Harry’s desk. As if he was waiting for someone to break through it, or even see him there. Nerves. Harry’s witnesses always had the nerves.

            The detective reached back with one hand and pulled the cord to close the blinds. The office dimmed, but Cisco relaxed, even if only a fraction.

            “I saw a man murdered.” The confession came as soon as the outside world was cut off. No, not a confession. Harry had to remind himself that not all of his witnesses were criminals. “I need your help,” Cisco continued. “II think someone knows I saw it.”

            “I’m not a body guard, Cisco.” Harry stated, frowning. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had come to him for the wrong reasons.

            “Yeah, but you can put these cats in the can before they get the chance to cut me down!” Cisco’s objection was fervent, he leaned forward with all that antsy energy, hands still fiddling in his lap. Harry could tell where that look in his eyes came from, now.

            Sometimes, witnesses weren’t scared of snitching, weren’t afraid of what they had seen. The unfortunate few, like Cisco, well… they were scared for their lives. And there was no question in Harry’s mind of what needed to be done. There was another killer in Central City and it was Harry’s job to take out the trash.

            “Alright then, Cisco,” Harry started, calm as ever. He opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out a notepad, an extra tumbler, and the rye. He poured a splash for Cisco and passed it over. “Tell me everything.”

 

Cisco’s fingers shook around the crystal, but he got the story out.

            He worked at a lounge. The Rudder. Harry was familiar – more like a dive than a lounge, but on the tail end of the Dry Spell, most bars were these days, but the Rudder came with a reputation around the precinct. Cisco was their regular singer – that was the surprising part, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Even just speaking, even in his panic, Cisco’s voice was warm and smooth.

            They used to be a dual act, Cisco and his brother. Dante had died, but Cisco stuck around for the frankly obscene amount of money they were paying him for the gig. For his parents. He knew what kind of place it was, knew that something wasn’t quite right but he was paid too good to quit. Probably for his silence, though he hadn’t realized at the time. A bunch of criminals – the nastiest fully-fledged gang of Central City, ran the Rudder. The Rogues. Cisco hadn’t known at the time and Harry wouldn’t tell him, for his own safety. Harry’d taken a few of their bullets before and he would save Cisco the awareness so he could keep himself from getting pumped fulla lead.

            He’d seen his boss – their leader, Leonard Snart – snuff a guy. Said he didn’t know the reason but he’d been backstage when it happened. Snart didn’t know what he’d seen, he thought, but it was only a matter of time before someone figured out he had been there.

            “How long ago was this?” Harry asked. For confirmation, but he felt his stomach tighten.

            Cisco glanced at the clock. Christ.

            “Just after my set. A few hours ago. Ten, maybe eleven.”

            Harry cursed. This was fresh. A man had just died.

            “And you what – waited around?”

            “Of course I did! I had to finish up, break stage!” Cisco sounded offended. “What was I gonna do, run out of there like some nance and let the man know I saw something?”

            He had a point. And Harry had a plan.

            “You’re not gonna like this,” Harry started after a moment of thought. “But I’m going to need you to do exactly what I say.”

            It was perfectly clear that Cisco didn’t like it already, but he nodded, a grim expression on his face. Harry tried to ignore how upsetting it was to see his frown. Cisco Ramon was too pretty to look put out. But then again, so were most of his witnesses.

            “You’re gonna go back.”

            _“What?”_

            “Told ya you weren’t gonna like it.” Harry sighed, passing his hand over his face. “You’re gonna go back, and you’re going to pretend like nothing ever happened. You didn’t see shit, got it? The investigation is… ongoing.” They’d always had circumstance. Nothing ever fit. They’d been hunting the Rogues since what seemed like the dawn of time, and CCPD didn’t have anything to show for it. _Harry_ didn’t have anything to show for it. The Rudder, shady as it happened to be, was legit. “You do just what you did tonight. We got good info on who you’re working for at the Rudder, and we don’t want to go spookin’ em out and not getting anything for all our efforts and all your trauma.” Harry leaned back in his chair, keyed tight from the revelation.

            “Just do your job as usual. There’s gonna be someone on you every night until we make a move, okay? We’ll keep an eye on you, keep the investigation going. You don’t have to worry about your life.”

            As he spoke, Harry reached into his desk once more, pulling out his business card. The number of his office phone was printed on it already, but he turned it over and scribbled out his home digits as well.

            “Take this.” Harry slid it across the desk to Cisco and gave him as much of a smile as he could muster for assurance. “In case you’re uncomfortable callin’ the precinct if anything happens.”

            Cisco stared down at the card between his fingers as if he couldn’t believe he just walked in and it was that easy. His hands had stopped shaking by now, his breathing had calmed with one or two sips of the whiskey. He seemed less rattled and more in shock than anything. What he had seen was slowly settling in, and calming the horror of it was going to take work.

            “You ever seen someone die like that, Ramon?” Harry asked, surprised at the softness in his own voice. He had seen a number of murders, taken on every gruesome case he’d been presented with. He had a reputation, which was probably why the uniforms had sent Cisco up to him. None of his cases went cold, but each one weighed on him heavily. He had seen so many people shot and killed, done it himself a few more times than he could count. He, at least, had the war to take away the sting. Cisco was too young, too fresh to know.

            “I was with my brother the night he died.” Cisco’s voice was quiet, and Harry guessed the long pull of whiskey he took wasn’t for the night’s trauma. “Car accident. We were going home together from work. I had a glass that night and he didn’t want me on the road. Some no good fuckin’ _scum_ slammed right into his side. If- if I hadn’t-“

            Harry saw the world narrow down to nothing, to small slits in his vision. He saw the story too well, decades prior and from his own eyes. Automobiles weren’t as popular, less regulated. When you got in it was at your own risk. Harry’s fingers twitched towards the picture on his desk. Jesse had been a little girl. She had been safe with her nanny while they were driving home to her.

            “Cisco,” Harry cleared his throat around the lump that tried to lodge itself in grief that he had already gone through. “You- don’t have to. Just know that – violent death? It leaves its mark. Sometimes seeing a stranger killed is worse than your own family.” Watching a man get gunned down is never easy. Even Harry had his troubles with the job.

            “Detective-“

            “Harrison, please.”

            “Harry.” Cisco settled on the name, something softer in his voice that spoke louder than his words did. Somehow, this stranger could quiet the ache in his chest using only his name. “I just-“

            “No need to thank me, Cisco,” Harry cut off whatever he was going to say, knowing that it would have been something deep and meaningful, and knowing that it wasn’t what he needed or wanted from any of his witnesses. “I’m just doing my job.”

            Cisco nodded, but there was more trouble on his face than Harry cared for. It was also part of his job to make sure the people that he helped felt that they were safe.

            “What will you be doing?” Cisco asked, staring at the remnants of his whiskey and the business card still clutched in his hand. “The other half of your plan – what is it?”

            Harry realized he hadn’t given Cisco the entire picture. He thought it might be better that way, but only for a moment. Cisco deserved to know what he was walking into.

            “You do your thing – blend in, sing, act natural, and I’ll be doing mine. There’s a whole mess at the Rudder that we been tryin’a clean up for years. This might just get us there.” Harry leaned forward, arms against his desk, and glanced at his clock. Just past midnight. He might still be able to make it home, now that he had a spurt of energy. “We won’t move tomorrow – too soon. We don’t want to put you in too much danger, though, so at least the day after. For now, we’re gatherin’ information, keeping a low profile and a man in the joint. Don’t worry, Cisco. We’ll be watching.”

            Harry gestured towards the business card. “If you see anything else, you call me immediately, you got that? If anyone suspects you or says anything that might just be a little wrong you call me. If you need to get outta there fast, you-“

            “Call you, yeah, I got it, detective.” Cisco managed a faint smile as he stood, placing the empty tumbler on the desk in front of him. “Thank you for your help, Harrison.” He nodded once and turned to go, hunching his shoulders preemptively against the rain.

            “Oh, and Cisco?” Harry called, just as the man’s hand touched the handle. Cisco glanced back at him without completely turning. Harry presented him with a steady, serious expression. “Don’t try to be a hero, kid.”

 

Harry would take that night and lay low the day after. Cisco Ramon had left his office that night and Harry had followed, his new nervous energy spurring him to head home. The Rogues. The Rudder. This was the biggest break that Harry was ever going to get. If he was the one that undid the biggest gang in Central City he could have clearance to take a shot at anything. He could take on anyone. His peers were always saying he was too big for his breeches. He would show them.

            Harrison Wells had a reputation for justice. He wouldn’t sit still for long.

            He’d take down the rogues, and then he’d set his sights even higher.

            The mayor’s office was full of all the wrong kind of fellas, anyway...

            It was a mission, and one Harry was far more than willing to complete.

            He went home that night despite the rain, sobered from his discussion with Cisco. He saw Jesse awake at the table, remnants of dinner on a plate to heat up for him beside a stack of papers she was reading. He ate in a daze, barely registering the food or her questions about his day.

            “What happened, daddy?” She asked at least, finally pulling the detective from his thoughts.

            Harry stared down at his hands, a smile growing on his face.

            “Today, sweetheart, I met a man.”

\---

True to his word, Harry was there two nights later.

            As far as gin joints went, the Rudder isn’t the worst, but it surely ain’t the best. Harry’s top concern has been that he hasn’t heard from Cisco at all in the two days after their meeting. Maybe the singer had a case of cold feet; maybe he’s already been shown to the pearly gates; maybe he’s gone turncoat. Maybe, if he was being smart, he’s taken Harry’s advice to heart and had laid as low as the detective.

            Harry has been here for an hour and he hasn’t heard a single peep from the stage, just a steady flow of surprisingly smooth jazz coming from a group of men that look more ready to play a tune on some stiff’s rib cage rather than the ivories. They play well, regardless. He keeps his eye out for Cisco, of course, but more importantly?

            For Snart.

            Leonard Snart owned the Rudder, one of the first legal clubs in Central after they lifted the booze ban. The speed with which it opened to the public only spoke to how long it had been operating underground. A speakeasy turned a respectable establishment. Well, as respectable as the Rudder could manage, and that was discounting the number of side projects Snart had running under his roof.

            A notorious thief, an arsonist, a she-devil with gold in her eyes, and two flat out killers to round them off. Snart managed to amass a sizeable following after the passing of his father, and they made a name for themselves quick. Couple of bootlegging, rumrunners took Central as their turf and got rid of anyone who stepped on it. A few regular no-good criminals with the makings of a gang that came true when they came together. Worse yet, the put moonshine in the mayor’s hand. Corn in Central’s court. Gin in the jailhouse. They had so many politicians in their hands that no one was doing nothing, ‘cause everyone was afraid of someone in the Rogues.

            Then came Cisco Ramon.

            Young enough not to have his own stake in the game, new to the city and with his brother, looking to find some steady way to rake in enough dough to keep their parents from going six feet under. Good kids. Dumb as bricks.

            Cisco doesn’t know shit about the Rogues, Harry knows that for sure. He just knows he saw a guy get knocked off and it sat wrong with him. Cisco was the first person to lodge a complaint, the only one to report a crime. Wherever he had come from, they taught him his manners and morals for sure.

            So Harry sits at a secluded table in the back, keeping his eye on the stage and the door to see if anything goes awry.

            So far? Nothing.

            The bartender had let Harry know he was in for a show tonight, but he couldn’t be certain what that had meant at the time.

            “On stage?” He asks over the rim of his glass once he has it, glancing back at the empty platform. He’s once again taken by Cisco’s bravery. But he can’t let the bartender know what he knows. “What, y’got some dame chirpin’ her lungs out? You and half the other joints in the city.”

            The bartender shakes his head, a wide grin splitting his gnarled features.

            “Ain’t no one chirps nicer than our little birdie.”

            For some reason, that sent a thrill through Harry, but he couldn’t be sure if it was excitement or panic. He gave Cisco both of his contact numbers. He told himself that as many times as he could as he made his way, glass in hand, to his corner table.

 

It took half an hour for Harry to find out what the bartender was talking about. Some part of him had always known that it must mean Cisco’s voice is as pretty as he looks, but Harry isn’t at the point of a bottle where he would openly admit that.

            He’s gotten a second drink and a visual lock on Snart’s pyro partner Mick Rory at the bar, three wheats down, before there was any sort of commotion from the small raised stage. Harry knows in his mind that he should keep his eyes on Rory, but the guy doesn’t look like he’s going to be moving soon. And after all, it’s only human nature for Harry to be drawn to the newest source of movement.

            Cisco stands center stage when the curtain comes up, adjusting the microphone down to his height. His hair falls in cascades over his shoulders, his silk suit – brocade? – catching the low light and glinting smooth gold. He was handsome two nights prior in the low light of Harry’s office, even in his disheveled state. But now? Hair dry, eyes uncovered and in his element? Cisco Ramon is no dame, but he’s easily the most beautiful thing that Harry has seen since his wife’s smile.

            And then he goes and opens his mouth.

            _“I see you,”_ his voice is soft, low, gravel and honey and Harry swears that Cisco is looking right at him. The glass shakes in his right hand, the left grips the table until his knuckles are white.

            _“In a lonely place,_

_“How could you be so blind?”_

Oh. The bartender had been right.

            There was no dame in Central City with a set of pipes that purred so pretty. Cisco Ramon is in a class of his own, not needing the lackluster pianist that plays behind him. Harry wonders what it would have been like with his brother playing beside him, and quickly shoves the guilty thought aside. Cisco keeps his eyes on Harry. The detective wants to tell him to turn away, motion for him to look elsewhere, but his heart seizes up tight. His brain freezes solid. There’s no way anyone can look away from something like this. No way that he can tune Cisco out.

            Just briefly, Harry catches sight of Snart approaching his partner, and it manages to snag his attention just in time.

            This was how they played it. They get the best singer in the city, pay him more than he can ever imagine, and when everyone and their mother keeps their eyes on Cisco, no one is watching Snart do his dirty work.

            No one but Harry.

            He watches as Snart slips something into Rory’s hands, the glint of metal catching his eyes. A watch. It wouldn’t have been enough to go on if Harry hadn’t recognized the diamond studded face from the wrist of a man he’d bumped into on the way to his seat.

            It may not be murder, but it’s something. Capone got cocked on tax evasion. Snart would get snagged by the one thing he does best – no matter. They have a witness to the murder anyway.

            _“Darling open your eyes,_

_“Let me show you the light,_

_“You may never find a love that’s right.”_

When it’s all said and done Harry signals his standing back up follows Rory to the back where they keep their stolen goods. They return the watch to the wrist Snart stole it from and a few other trinkets in their safe go back to safekeeping in their owners’ hands. Stealing from criminals was still stealing, in Harry’s book. By the time they’ve booked Snart and Rory, Harry’s head is spinning from the number of statements they’ve taken. He sits at the now-empty bar of the Rudder, glass in hand.

            “You know, thievery wasn’t what I thought you’d get him on.”

            By now, Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. He tilts his head to acknowledge the singer as Cisco sidles up beside him. They only just let him go, then, after taking more notes on the killing and making sure he has no connection to the Rogues. The first thing he does when he gets free is to go see Harry. That warms the detective up, and he cocks a lopsided smile, whiskey warm and drunk on the echo of Cisco’s song.

            “They had a good act,” Harry admits. Even he almost fell for it. He was so taken with Cisco’s singing that he almost missed his shot. “Can you believe they caught a real siren to put on stage? Even Ulysses’ crew couldn’t have enough wax between them.”

            Cisco’s dark cheeks color so pretty that Harry thinks he’ll never be able to get the sight out of his mind.

            “You’re too flattering, detective,” Cisco says, though Harry can tell he’s still pleased by the praise. “I hate to think that I was the one that helped them get this far, even if it was only indirectly.”

            Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that, even if you did – and I imagine that they would have found a way with or without you – you’ll be the one that helps us put them away. Testifying against them will go a long way.”

            They sit in silence a moment longer until cisco speaks quietly.

            “You’re a good man, detective Wells.”

            “I’m not a good man, Cisco. Just good at my job.”

            That makes the younger man laugh, a smile spreading his full lips.

            “That may be true, it may not be,” when Harry turns his head to see Cisco’s expression, his breath is taken by the warmth in Cisco’s eyes. “But I bet you’re still good enough to buy me dinner when this is all through.”

            And with a smile like that, who is Harry to deny him?


End file.
